


Five Times Helo Kissed Someone He Shouldn't Have, and One Time He Should.

by rebelliousrose



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Drinking, Drinking Games, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kissing, Lee/Angst, Pilots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 07:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4697867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelliousrose/pseuds/rebelliousrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The party was loud, and raucous, and the music was way too loud for Helo's sensitive hearing. In fact, he was pretty sure after this night was over, he was going to have to switch from ECO to deckhand, because what good was an ECO who couldn't tell comm chatter from godawful Geminon Gods-pop? 'Course, the person who had picked the music was Stinger, and who was going to tell the CAG that his music sucked?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Helo Kissed Someone He Shouldn't Have, and One Time He Should.

First Time 

The party was loud, and raucous, and the music was way too loud for Helo's sensitive hearing. In fact, he was pretty sure after this night was over, he was going to have to switch from ECO to deckhand, because what good was an ECO who couldn't tell comm chatter from godawful Geminon Gods-pop? 'Course, the person who had picked the music was Stinger, and who was going to tell the CAG that his music sucked? Well, Starbuck, but she didn't count. 

Helo had lost all his cubits yet again, in a classic example of when to not bluff, especially if you didn't have a devious bone in your body. It always killed him that Lt. Gaeta was one of the best bluffers he'd ever played with, countenance open and unruffled... Over in the corner, Starbuck, who had passed intoxicated some time ago and was flying into combat territory with both feet firmly in her mouth, was playing spin the (empty) bottle with Ripper, Jolly, Erin, Feline, Dragon, three salivating nuggets, and some shuttle pilot from a resupply ship. 

Helo was watching as usual, waiting for Starbuck to go too far, or someone to need to break up a fight. Kara was still too wild for her own good, and since Boomer was...inspecting repairs to their Raptor with Chief Tyrol down on the deck, Helo was at loose ends. So when Starbuck called him over, he was willing to abandon watching the Triad game and go. 

"Take off your pants, Helo." Erin ordered. 

He looked at Starbuck to check if this was required. She pointed her cigar at him. "If you're in here, you're playing." 

He shrugged, unbuckled his belt and shucked his pants, folding them neatly. It wasn't like the entire room, excepting the redfaced shuttle pilot, hadn't seen him in the head, or in the racks. Underwear was underwear. And everyone's was pretty much the same, two legs and some elastic. Erin moved over to make room for him, which put him next to Ripper on the other side. 

Starbuck reached out and gave the bottle a spin, resulting in a crazy carom off the side of Dragon's knee which slung the sticky ambrosia remnants onto Erin. The bottle came to rest pointing at Feline, who smiled her cat smile and leaned across the circle to Starbuck. After a minute of that, Helo relocated his pants to his lap. Underwear was underwear, but his was getting smaller. 

Subsequent spins were less exciting, and Feline had passed him the full ambrosia bottle. He'd downed a few good slugs in anticipation, since he suspected strongly that Starbuck was setting him up to have to kiss either one of the FNGs or the shuttle pilot, who had his hand on Erin's knee and the dazed look of a man who couldn't believe his luck. Kissing a man didn't particularly bother him; about the same as a woman, just pricklier, but Ripper just plain pissed him off a lot of the time, and he'd rather not have that to crawl around in his brain. 

"You're up, Helo!" Starbuck crowed, and steeling himself for the worst, Helo gave the bottle a good spin. Too good, in fact, since the bottle bounced off Starbuck, the dark-haired nugget, Dragon, and Helo's own ankle before it came to a stop- pointing directly at Helo. He sighed inwardly in relief and prepared to put on a good show of kissing his own hand passionately, when Starbuck laughed. 

"Turn around, Helo." 

With a sense of impending doom, Helo turned around, and there was his pilot, Boomer, back from her toolroom rezendevous. He closed his eyes. 'Frak' was completely insufficient and he had nothing stronger. 

Boomer's lips were still flushed and red, and her skin damp. Helo was going to have to kiss her, in full view of the gods and everyone, knowing that she was all he wanted, and she was fresh from another man's arms. Her eyes were glaring at Starbuck, though, and they were conducting a silent argument over his head, which Boomer predictably lost. 

While Helo thought about curling into a fetal position on the floor and pretending to die, Sharon knelt next to him and turned his face to hers. Her eyes were amused, and Helo fell into them like he always did. He heaved a huge sigh and poked his tongue into his cheek, then leaned forward and met her lips with his. 

"That the best you got, Helo?" Starbuck catcalled behind him and Helo decided the hell with it, he had this chance and he was taking it. He swept Sharon sideways, locking one powerful arm around her waist and threading the other hand up into her loose hair at the nape. She was stiff for a moment, then laughed against his mouth and then she was kissing him back, and oh gods, that was her tongue and Helo lost himself in her so completely that only Starbuck drumming on his shoulder with her fist signaled him to stop. 

Sharon broke away from his kiss, and he released her from his embrace the second she resisted, causing her to sprawl onto Ripper, who leered and shoved her upright. 

Her lips trembled slightly, and she looked shocked. He caught her confused eyes. "Tell 'em, Sharon. Best ever, right?" 

Boomer stared silently at him for a moment and then threw her head back and laughed that yelping, full throated laugh he liked so much. "You don't need me, Helo. Half of Caprica and Geminon can tell them." 

Next to him, Ripper spun the bottle, and Helo took the chance to look Sharon in the eyes. "We good?" She smiled, her smile just for him, and shoved Ripper over, dropping her head affectionately against Helo's shoulder for just a moment. "Frak it, Starbuck, what did you do with my pants?"

 

Second Time

“I don’t know. I haven’t accessed that data.” Sharon’s voice was clipped, what Helo had come to think of as her “Cylon tone”. 

“Here’s what we do. Take the heavy raider, cram it full of ground troops…” Starbuck’s voice became inaudible as she walked away with Anders, away from Helo. Not trusting Helo, because of her. Sharon leaned her forearm against the truck as Anders and Starbuck talked in the background about more assaults against the Cylon. Sharon was torn. One part of her wanted to warn her people, but the stronger half was the one that loved Helo, loved their baby, and remembered Kara Thrace and Galactica. Beside her, Helo sighed quietly. He never seemed to complain, just facing each obstacle as it came and moving on. 

“I’m sorry, Helo.” Sharon turned to him, eyes brimming with tears, beautiful even with bloodstains and messy hair, and unable to stop himself, Helo opened his arms. Sharon stepped into them, and for a moment allowed herself the comfort of his strength and emotional generosity, and the hope that he could, would, love her again. Over his shoulder she saw Anders and Starbuck look at them as they walked away, and Sharon clung for one more moment, closing her eyes as Helo’s lips pressed gently against her temple. It wasn’t safe here, not for them to be together, not around these humans. It wasn’t safe for Helo to be a Cylon lover, and she’d already put him in danger by declaring him to be hers, and her baby’s father. Loosening her arms, she stepped back out of his reach, leaning against the truck. 

Clearly hurt, Helo rubbed his forehead absently, and Sharon caught his eye and indicated the guards with rifles. This, and they, could wait, until they were someplace safe. Helo loved her, and that was enough for Sharon. They’d get through the rest, somehow. She pushed gently by him to the truck’s fender, and Helo joined her, leaning quietly. Anders kissed Starbuck’s hand, and Helo bent over, his breath a whisper against Sharon’s cheek. “I’m sorry, too.” Sharon curved her palm around his back, not quite a hug, but a touch, comforting herself with his nearness and solidity. For a moment, Sharon met his eyes, falling into the clear, unclouded green, and then a movement recalled her to potential danger and the need to watch Helo’s back, and Starbuck’s. As Kara reached them, lips trembling, and jaw locked, leaving Anders behind, Sharon trailed her hand against Helo’s waist as she moved away from him to the driver’s seat for his things. 

“Let’s go home.”

 

Fifth Time

Helo stands at attention, rigid, breathing slowly, eyes front and center on the wall above the commander’s head. The irony of what he’s looking at isn’t lost on him, that the commander of the Bellerophon’s taste in art runs to naked nymphs frolicking with satyrs, or in this situation, pilots. Commander Frayn eventually stops flipping through Helo’s service file and looks at him straight on and shakes his head. 

“You’re a good ECO, Lieutenant. One of the best in the Air Group, and I hate to lose you. Unfortunately, Admiral Luallen is still substantially upset.” Commander Frayn sighs. “I’m transferring you to the Galactica at his…request.” 

Helo doesn’t move yet. It could be worse. He could be going to the ship that visits the Armistice Station once a year and then sits in dock for the rest of the time. He could be the first ECO to be demoted to filing. Could you do filing in a flightsuit? Helo reins in his panicky thoughts and turns his wandering attention back to Frayn. The worst shock is over, that he’s going to be transferred off Bellerophon. Galactica has a decent reputation in the Fleet, and one of his good friends from flight school serves on her. He hates to leave Archer, though. Archer’s a great Raptor driver, and they work really, really well together. Plus she’s so pretty, and she might have been weakening in her vow to never be involved with a copilot. 

The Commander’s still speaking, and Helo starts to pay attention. “Commander Adama won’t know why you’re being transferred; or his CAG, just that you’re coming. Keep your nose clean, son, and when the Galactica finishes the refit, you’ll be able to reapply to transfer back here if you want to. Bellerophon will welcome you home.” 

“Refit, sir?” Helo’s pretty sure he missed something in the middle there, probably when he stated thinking about Archer’s legs.

“The museum, Agathon. Pay attention. Galactica’s being kitted out as a museum for the kiddies of the Twelve Colonies to see what the Cylon War was like. She’s being retired and decommissioned in five months.” 

And Helo suddenly gets it. He’s being sent to a trash ship, a ship where the Fleet’s refuse will wind up, the discipline problems (which explains his friend’s posting), the lazy, the frakups. The unwanted. He’ll fly CAP around the pucker of nowhere, and if he’s lucky, when the ship’s a museum, he won’t wind up carting tours through the former mess hall with a microphone. 

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir. It’s been an honor serving with you.” Helo salutes, and to his surprise, Frayn lumbers to his feet and salutes back. 

“Remember, son. Keep your nose clean, and we’ll be seeing you soon.” Helo turns to leave, but Frayn’s not quite done. “That includes pretty Admirals’ nieces.” 

 

And the Time He Should

Helo lifts slowly and methodically. The weights always relax him, the repetitive motions and the slow burn of muscles doing what both create and sustain them. He’d always lifted, where other people ran, or worked out frustrations against the heavy bag or a partner in the ring. Violence didn’t soothe him particularly. He enjoyed boxing, the science and skill of it, but it wasn’t his way of working out demons. 

It was Apollo’s way, though, and across the room the CAG was going at the heavy bag so hard that the bag was swinging on the chain in slow, weighty sweeps, returning to Apollo even as he chased it with more blows. As hard as he was hitting it, it was going to eventually take him off his feet, and muscular though Apollo was, he was tiny, at least compared to Helo. His wife was taller than the CAG. 

Across the way, HotDog was spotting Dragon, but both of them were watching Apollo. He’d been slowly losing it for days now, since Starbuck went into the clouds and never came out, and anyone offering sympathy, or anything like compassion, Apollo attacked like a raw recruit. He’d managed to reduce the cheerful Narcho to tears during the first pilot briefing after her death, and no one had dared to raise the subject since. People watched Lee Adama in the halls, and avoided him in the mess. His silent, desperate grief was devastating to be around, no matter if you’d known Starbuck or not. Helo couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be Dualla. How could you comfort your husband over the loss of his true love, his emotional twin? How could you know, over and over, every day, that you weren’t ever going to be enough? Dee was strong, and Helo loved her for that, but sooner or later she was going to break. The question was, was she going to before Apollo did? 

If Helo hadn’t had Sharon and Hera, he would be in a similar state to Apollo’s, he knew, but his family kept him grounded, and his wife was more than willing to share his grief, and even more so to share her memories- Boomer’s memories- of the good times the three of them had had together. Starbuck had been his sister, in the truest sense, and Helo was wrecked too. No one had noticed him in the chaos in CIC. He’d dropped his papers and quite literally gone to his knees with grief, and eventually Felix Gaeta had gotten him to his feet and down to his quarters, offering a handkerchief; so typical of the formal Gaeta to have nothing so common as a tissue or a wad of toilet paper like everyone else. 

Sharon had held him as he cried, the deep-gut wrenching sobs that he had cried over her dead body when he’d killed her so she could go and rescue their daughter. This pain was so much worse, because he knew that Kara wasn’t coming back. This wasn’t planned, and she was, and had ever been, all too human. He’d fallen asleep in Sharon’s arms, on the floor, and when he woke, she was still holding him, slender body curved into a painful twist, reminding him again that she wasn’t human, and that unlike Kara, she’d live on long after him. 

He didn’t think Lee Adama had cried. Helo wondered if he could. Sam Anders had, accepting Kara’s loss as unselfconsciously as a child, burying his face in his Pyramid-calloused hands and weeping silently until Jean Barolay came from a shuttle and led him away. Anders was grieving openly, and the Admiral, and Tigh was terribly quiet. And Apollo was remote, and angry, and missing. The body and the intellect functioned, but the heart and soul were somewhere else. This assault on the heavy bag was the first time Helo had seen anything behind the cool mask Apollo wore, but Artemis was gone and Apollo was bleeding. 

And as he looked, Apollo was literally bleeding, drops splattering from his hands onto the slippery surface of the heavy bag, palms and wrists red and wet. Lee Adama continued his blows, unaware of pain or injury, the cool god of intellect become berserker Ares, and Helo intervened. 

“Give me the room.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, and HotDog and Dragon downed weights and left immediately. The two deck officers followed after them, and Helo found a moment to be grateful for his tenuous status; X-On/X-Off as Felix Gaeta has taken to calling him. No one would have cleared a room for ECO Agathon, but for the XO? 

Apollo is bleeding all over the place, and Helo takes three swift steps and locks his arm across Apollo’s chest and drags him free of the heavy bag. For a moment the CAG fights him, blindly, and then his eyes clear and he sees Helo and Apollo goes down so quickly that Helo almost can’t catch him in spite of his hold. Apollo’s on his knees and so is Helo and when Apollo lashes out, Helo grabs his mangled hand as gently as he can, but Lee Adama won’t quit, so Helo takes him down to the floor, pinning him there until Apollo gives one heaving breath and stops, going still and small and quiet. 

Helo gets his arm under him and lifts, cradling the other man against his chest and just holding him there. Forced comfort may be the only kind Apollo can accept right now, and Helo is reminded of a cat he had when he was young. The cat nagged to be picked up, then went stiff and fought to get down. Helo had simply placed the cat in his lap and wrapped his arms around it until it relaxed and stopped fighting. Simpler for animals than people, he thinks. Fighting was the only way Apollo saw to survive. 

“I love her too, Major.” Helo says simply. 

The CAG shudders in his arms and Helo holds on tighter as Apollo’s battered hands come up and twine in his tanks. The laundry’s going to love the blood smears, but spare tanks are easy to come by, and Apollo needs something, anything right now. He shifts his legs under him and pulls Apollo across his lap, leaning his back against the wall and pulling Apollo into his shoulder. He hasn’t seen the other man’s face since Apollo went to the floor, but he can feel the wetness trickling against his neck and soaking into his shirts. He rubs Apollo’s back with his free hand and makes soft sounds like he does for Hera when she cries. The CAG’s still silent, only his heavy breathing and the slow tears belying the stiffness of his body. Helo pulls him closer and rests his cheek on Lee Adama’s hair, stroking his nape and pressing gentle kisses to his temple and forehead. 

He’ll stay as long as it takes, just like Sharon did for him, and he watches over Apollo’s shoulder as the heavy bag slowly comes to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kindreds Five Times Project. Which is why there are only four pieces, since the other two aren't mine. 
> 
> Also, Lee Adama has his own Lee/Angst tag? That's hilarious!


End file.
